


A Beautiful Sight, We’re Happy Tonight

by chewysugar



Series: Winter Wonderland [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Bisexual Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time), Christmas, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Implied Voyeurism, M/M, Mild Angst, Showers, Teen Angst, Teen Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time), Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Reeling after Jack's disappearance, Henry wonders if somehow he made the whole thing up.
Relationships: Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood)/Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time)
Series: Winter Wonderland [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572364
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	A Beautiful Sight, We’re Happy Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marvelatmymajesty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelatmymajesty/gifts).



> Warmest shout-outs to marvelatmymajesty for being so tickled by the first story as to leave a trail of breadcrumbs with which I decided to construct this little sequel. I am very happy to hear how much you enjoyed the first part. 
> 
> For you, I will gladly continue.

It was all Henry could do not to run away from the Ice Carnival on the wings of the winter wind. Blood raced in his veins, galloping like a herd of wild caribou. His lips tingled from the kiss under the mistletoe. Even as Regina and Emma ushered him away from the sidelines and back to the hubbub of festivities, he kept his eyes and ears peeled for some sign of Jack. But the beautiful boy was nowhere to be found. 

He ignored the white hot chocolate Emma offered him, his gaze fixed on the snow covered pines around the park. Maybe if he peered hard enough he'd see Jack there, watching...waiting...

“You okay, kiddo? Usually you’re over the moon for this sugary stuff.” 

“M’fine,” Henry mumbled. But he wasn’t, not a bit. He needed more—craved his to feel Jack’s lips on his again—to feel those arms, with their wiry strength, wrapped around him again. 

Fire crackled in the caged confines of the wrought iron warming grill in front of him. Shadows danced across the faces of those gathered round—Emma and Killian, his grandparents, Ashley and her husband...all these people who had love in their lives. Even Regina had her power and self-possession. Their lives all seemed to be predicated by love: love broke curses, love created heroes, love vanquished evil. Never in his life had he felt as if that sort of thing were his to claim—until tonight. 

Until Jack. 

The best that could be said for the party was that it dispersed shortly thereafter. Storybrooke had been mild all throughout that day—the kind of crisp, cool, windless December day prime for lovers to walk in. Even the setting of the sun had done little to waylay anyone’s spirits. But shortly after everyone had clustered by the fire, a chill crept over the streets and fields of the city. It danced through the barren branches of the trees and trickled through keyholes and through window drafts. 

People who’d been determined to stick it out at the Ice Carnival soon gave up. Henry, chilled to the bone and still feeling as if he’d been thrown into the deepest, darkest part of the sea, was only too willing to acquiesce when Regina put a hand on his shoulder. 

“We should get home.” Her breath was a mist before her as she spoke. “If I’d known it was going to drop this fast I’d have worn my mink.” 

Henry nodded, gave Emma and Killian a hug, kissed Snow and Charming farewell, and hustled towards his mother’s waiting car. The grounds were giving way to abandonment, and he was only to keen to get indoors. The cold was making him think of Jack—of that kiss. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Regina asked as their car moved down the slick streets. 

Henry, gazing out the window, grunted in response. Outside all was snowy ground and glittering lights. He’d developed a mature sense of the season as he’d gotten older—it was nice to observe but it wasn’t quite as magical. Bulbs of blue and white, and more kitschy technicolor dazzled his sight, yes, but only because they were a beacon of memory. 

At that moment, he didn’t even have it in him to be nostalgic. The gloom and doom of adolescence was stealing over him like a thick cloud of sea-borne fog. He’d probably never see Jack again. It wasn’t fair. 

“You certainly kept to yourself,” his Mom said. The car was stopped at a red light. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Henry sighed. “I just...I wanted to be alone tonight.” He went slightly pink remembering the feel of Jack’s sweater curled around his fingers. He supposed Regina wanted an apology of some degree— _didn’t he know how reckless...he ought to be more careful...she hadn’t raised him to have such loose morals..._ never mind that the mistletoe had dictated his actions. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” 

Regina frowned as the car moved forward. “Sorry? I’m not mad at you for keeping to yourself. God only knows my skin was starting to crawl being around all those people.” 

“Not for that.” Henry picked at a thread in his jacket. “For...for what I did in the gazebo.” 

“What? Just standing there? It’s not a crime, Henry.” 

It was Henry’s turn to frown. He looked to his mother as she drove the car into the garage of their fine home. “Mom...I was with someone, remember?” 

“Were you?” She turned the ignition off, and regarded him with that same steely concern she’d had all her life. “Henry, Emma and I were walking right towards you and we didn’t see anybody.” 

Henry stared, mute with disbelief. It wasn’t as if Jack was hard to miss—not with his snowy hair. They’d been talking for the better part of half an hour. But to Henry’s recollection, nobody had seen or said anything to Jack aside from him. 

Had the whole encounter—their conversation, the kiss—been some kind of episode? His mind reeled at the idea that he was so lacking for love that he’d made the whole thing up. 

Regina combed his shaggy hair from his forehead. “We really need to get that cut.” She sighed. “You should turn in, Henry. Have a nice hot shower, and I’ll turn the heat up.” 

Henry nodded, not meeting his mother’s eyes. “Yeah.” He felt his throat tighten. He didn’t want to be losing his mind—he didn’t want his Jack to have been a complete construct of his isolated soul. 

Before his Mom could once more reach out in some gesture of comfort, Henry clambered out of the car. The sheer power of the cold made him gasp. It filled his lungs, stung his face. Again he thought of what he’d shared with Jack under the mistletoe...or at least what he thought he’d shared with Jack. Maybe it really had been a fantasy, after all. God only knew Storybrooke was rife with them. 

He went right upstairs as soon as he had his boots off. At the very least, a shower would take the cold out—that reminiscent, embracing cold. If it meant erasing the sting—that gnawing humiliation at what had happened to his own sense of reality—he’d scald himself raw. 

Locking the bathroom door behind him, he left his clothes in a heap on the floor, and stepped into the spacious shower. He looked out the bathroom window just before sliding the shower door shut. Outside all was darkness beyond the second story of the house. Spidery fingers of frost were slowly climbing up the panes as the cold front moved in. The splintering patterns on the glass made Henry think of Jack’s hair. 

_It wasn’t real_ , he told himself furiously. He stepped under the hot spray of the water. After the cold outside, the cascade fell over his skin like lava. But he bore the brunt, head bent. 

He _would_ imagine a lover. He’d been so inventive as a child, so determined. Fortunately for the sake of his ego, he’d mellowed out when puberty had set in. But if he was going around make-believing handsome strangers, perhaps he wasn’t so over that part of his life as he’d assumed. 

Still, he couldn’t imagine anyone else taking Jack’s place. Though their time together had been brief, there had been something about him that had made an instantaneous impression. It was the kind of thing Henry had supposed his grandparents had felt—that sense that here was a person who had been made for you; who’s existence changed everything. He’d been asleep before that kiss, and now...

Ah, but it had all been a dream. If his magically attuned mothers hadn’t seen Jack, then...

The back of Henry’s neck prickled. His brows creasing, he looked back at the bathroom. Steam filled the air, but not so thickly that he couldn’t see anything. 

Great, now here he was jumping at shadows. A padded cell was obviously in his future. 

Feeling his weariness to the roots of his muscles, he shut the shower off, stepped onto the mat, and grabbed a towel from the peg. He tousled his hair until it was a damp mess over his bangs, then grabbed the fresh pair of pajamas from the linen closet. Then he padded across the floor, scooped his old clothes off the floor and threw them into the hamper. 

Again he felt as if he were being watched. 

Henry looked back at the bathroom at large. Nothing was out of place. For the sake of caution, he crossed the tile, and drew level with the window. Condensation coated the inside glass. Henry rubbed a large swath of it away with the cuff of his sleeve.

The frost on the outside pane now covered it completely from edge to edge. It was so thick that everything on the other side had been rendered to nothing more than indistinct blurs. He wondered if Storybrooke would be in for an ice storm. 

He left the bathroom. The door to his Mom’s study was open. He could see her at her desk, the glow from her laptop making her look ghostly. But she smiled when she saw him standing in the door frame. Suddenly he felt like the world’s biggest wretch first everything he’d ever done to aggrieve, worry and frustrate her. She didn’t need him hallucinating on top of it all. 

“Going to bed?” 

Henry nodded, but resisted the urge to cross the floor and give her a hug. Whatever was wrong with him, he didn’t want it to be catching. 

“Yeah. You should get some sleep too.” 

“I will. I’m just checking the weather radar.” Her lips thinned. “Not that I trust meteorologists very much, but they didn’t call for this tonight.” 

“These are weird times, Mom.” He feigned a yawn—despite feeling extremely exhausted. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight. I love you.” 

Henry smiled a little. “I love you too.” And he really did—enough to worry that he’d ruin her life if he was truly losing his grip. 

He shuffled down to his bedroom, locked the door behind him, and crawled beneath the covers. Faint light from outside filtered through his bedroom window, eerie but also comforting. Henry, head turned ever so slightly on his pillow, gazed out. The rime hadn’t coated the outer glass of the window—perhaps his having the hot water running had had something to do with it? 

He lay awake for some time, listening to the sounds of the house, and trying to keep Jack from his thoughts. He heard the door to Regina’s study close; heard her footsteps down the hall. A long while after he knew she’d gone to bed, Henry still found himself awake and feeling completely un-moored. 

A sound like slowly crushing glass caught his attention. He looked to the window once more. Frost was moving in thick and fast over the panes—far too thickly and far too fast to be natural. Out from the mist of memory, Jack’s words came to him like a single snowflake landing on the tip of his nose: _I’ll be creeping at your window the next frosty night..._

Abandoning all thought and reason, Henry flung the covers off his body. Three long strides took him across the room. Taking care not to make too much noise, he opened the window. 

The icy cold did not immediately flood his room. Instead it coalesced, swirling in the form of flakes and fog on the ridge of the roof outside his window. His heart raced so fast he was afraid he’d pass out. 

This was no hallucination—he could see it, hear it, and most importantly feel it—that hovering cold just inches away. He leaned out the window, desperate to get closer...

With a final, fractal flourish, the ice, flakes, and fog solidified. 

Jack smiled like a sly Arctic fox, his blue eyes shining with mischievous happiness.

“Hello Henry. Guess I couldn't wait for the next night, after all.” 

**Author's Note:**

> There's still parts coming, so don't you worry your pretty little heads.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment, kudo or bookmark if you fancy.


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